No story, no matter how small, is ever wasted
by totheextraordinarykb
Summary: A place to collect unrelated small stories, all centered in the Castle fandom. (Around 500 words each, no regular schedule for updating)
1. Motivation

_Dedicated to the flawless Emily, penname ekc293, tumblr battlewhispers. Go read her stories. Now. You won't regret it. (She's amazing!)_

* * *

"Son of a bitch!" Castle exclaims as he pushes away from his desk to rub his eyes. "Damn writing deadlines. Stupid job, why did I ever get into this profession? Deadlines, no sleep, caffeine…"

He returns to the laptop, the anger fueling him. It's just writing. He can do this. He's Richard Castle after all, best seller author, kickass boyfriend –

Kate walks in, carrying a cup of coffee and a plate of cookies, wearing only one of his shirts. His eyes drift from her face down the curve of her body, spending forever on the length of her legs. "So how goes it?"

He sighs. "Terribly." As she approaches to put down the food and mug, he grips her hips, pulls her closer. "You sure we can't procrastinate a bit, go get the bed crumpled? You know, I don't really need to write." His hand moves down, dancing at the hem of the shirt, fingertips brushing the soft skin of her thigh. "I've got a lot of money saved up."

She pulls away, swatting his hand. "Write, Castle. How many pages do you have left?"

He pouts, turning back to the keyboard. "Three to write, twenty left to edit." He grabs the cup of coffee and drinks.

"You better write quickly, Castle." Her words are laced with urgency, and when he looks at her, she arches her eyebrow at him before unfastening one button. "Otherwise…" Her fingers deftly undo another button, and he's staring at them, willing them to continue, desperate to see more of her. "Write." His eyes flicker up to hers. "Now."

He turns back to the keyboard, following the command. He needs to get this chapter done as quickly as possible. Fingers flying, he misses as the fabric of the shirt falls to the floor and the door of his bedroom closes.

As he's finishing the seventh page of editing, he sneaks a look backwards towards his bedroom. Seeing the shirt on the floor, he swallows a groan and forces the words to come faster. His prose is beautiful, the sex hot and tangible, the words defying definition. Without a doubt, this is some of his best writing ever, and all he can think about is the woman waiting for him in his bed.

Saving the document, he closes his laptop, before he leaps from his chair. "Alright! It's time to get sexed up!"

The bedroom door opens and an arm emerges, pulling him in by the front of his shirt. "Finally!"

It closes with a loud thump.


	2. In the Dead of Night

_Because it told me it had to be written._

* * *

Kate Beckett wakes up with a jolt, struggling to sit. In a suffocating panic, she pulls herself free from the sheets pulled tight around her body after hours of tossing and turning. Her breath comes in short, fast, gasping bouts. She leans against the headboard, pulling her legs in, trying to get a grasp on her emotions. She has no awareness of what wakes her up but the terror is clutching itself around her heart.

The apartment is dark, the only light filtering in through the cracks between her curtains. The sounds of the city outside lend a familiarity to the night, but it cannot sooth her fear.

She reaches for the cell phone on her bedside table, dials the number without thinking. After the first nightmare Castle had witnessed, he had made her swear she'd call after each one. She had made him promise the same thing.

The line rings. A second time. When the third ring comes, she's already out of bed, struggling to put on jeans while keeping the phone pinned between her shoulder and ear. "Where are you, Castle?!" Foot caught, she lists to the side, hip crashing painfully into her chest of drawers. "Damn it!" she hisses.

"You've reached Richard Castle… Lucky you!" Breathless, throwing on a coat, picking up her keys and wallet, she dials again. "Come on, come on, come on…"

She pulls open the door, rushing out, and slips. Looking down, she sees what made her fall – a slip of paper.

Heart filled with dread, she bends to pick it up, phone still at her ear, ringing. The sound is hollow, rushes away from her as her heart drops.

"_He said, 'Goodbye, Kate'."_ There's a speckle of blood on the note as she drops to her knees. The paper falls from her hand, floating through the air, landing on the opposite side. She sees the text. _"You're next."_

She doesn't notice when the man steps over her, but she hears the cock of the gun.

Standing, she advances, her steps strong. The throbbing pain of loss pushes her forward, a desire for vengeance fueling her. "You _killed _him. You shot him, didn't you? I will kill you." Her words are dark, the consonants biting.

"He cried too. That he couldn't see your face one last time," the killer spat the words out, "that he couldn't tell you one last time how he_ felt._ Pathetic, really."

Snarling, Kate leaps at him, blinded by rage. The gun rings once, twice – muffled shots – and her body crumples to the ground.

The hit man stares for a moment at her body, before dropping the ring box onto her. "Love," he dismissively sneers, before disappearing into the night.


	3. Nothing Without You

_Loosely inspired by the lyrics of Eric Clapton's "(I) Get Lost". Dedicated to the amazing katinkaklink at Tumblr, who was more than patient with the fact this is an EXTREMELY LATE Secret Stana gift. And to make up for the delay, a second one will follow in a few hours after this one! :)_

* * *

He's nothing without her. He needs her. He needs her strength, he needs her misery, he needs her unending quest for justice. He needs the way she drives him insane. He needs the nibble on his bottom lip that ends every kiss.

Richard Castle is hopelessly, tragically in love with Kate Beckett.

But she doesn't need him, he thinks. Not the same way, at least.

So, as he's falling to pieces watching Kate cry – the day is the anniversary of her mother's death, and Kate's already told him it's impossible to stop the tears, that she's tried in the past – he can't do anything.

If he touches her, she'll remember her mother's touch. If he speaks, he'll say the wrong thing, hurt her more. If he leaves, she'll be left alone with the memories to haunt her. If he stays, he'll be invading her need for privacy.

There's nothing he can do.

He's rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to breathe. His chest tightens with fear.

Because here's the truth: he's nothing without her. He's terrified of that truth – nothing without you.

Castle can't do anything right, but maybe he should try. He has to.

So he calls out, just her name, just trying to get her attention. "Kate." The woman turns to him, the exhaustion of living written across her face. There is no wall, not today, so he sees the resignation in her eyes. Castle wasn't supposed to be there today, but he used the key he'd stolen to get into her apartment.

She starts to turn back to the window – the weather's appropriately stormy, the rain running in streams down the glass – but he speaks again before she can turn completely.

"Kate. Oh Kate, Kate." His voice is soft, reverent, speaking her name like a prayer. He takes a step closer, stops. Her eyes meet his, briefly, before she glances away to his shoes, apparently unable to hold the gaze. "Kate… I'm nothing without you, Kate. Did you know that? I just – maybe this isn't the right day or the right time, but Kate – I'm terrified because it's the truth. And you pursue the truth – I just want you to know, I'm nothing without you."

The words are spilling from his mouth, but he needs her to understand. It's almost sad – the writer in him is disappointed by the callousness with which he's using language. But he desperately needs her to understand.

"Kate, do you understand?" She glances at him, meets his eyes for a moment, then turns to the window. But the moment was enough, and he sees she understands – she's listened, thank god, she's here enough for that – but he sees the hint of distrust. She doesn't believe him.

He steps closer, needing less space between them. She won't let him touch her – he'd been warned of that days ago – but he can't do this from ten feet away.

"Kate, you are…" he flatters for a moment. "When everything else goes to waste, you're the constant. Don't lose yourself, Kate."

His voice cracks and he forces himself to stop talking. But he can't just stand there, so he strides to her back, inches between them. Her body sways towards his, magnetically pulled, and if this were any other day, he'd wrap her arms around hers and just hold her, for minutes, for hours, for days if that's what she needed.

But today, he makes sure that the space is enough to allow her to sway without touching him, but close enough he can smell her distinct scent: the cherries of her shampoo and the vanilla of her body wash. He watches as the tears silently fall. He's not sure if he's the cause – the thought pains him, makes his heart to seize in his chest – or if it's her mother's memory.

But he's staying anyway, because love is enduring.

* * *

_But you get lost inside your tears,_  
_And there is nothing I can do,_  
_'Cause I get lost inside my fear_  
_That I am nothing without you._

* * *

_Author's Note: _Thanks for reading! As always, criticisms are SO welcomed. This is my first foray back into fiction after a long break (writing screenplays, which are VERY different), so I apologize if things are a bit rusty!


	4. Enough

_This story takes place in the future; I'm imagining three years down the line, and a greatly soured Castle/Beckett relationship. It's slightly longer than the average in this collection, but it didn't stand well on its own. Don't go looking for the reason their relationship isn't perfect (I didn't explore it here), but assume that it's soured to a co-dependent love rather than the love we're used to seeing. I wanted to see how Beckett would react in that type of situation, and I wanted a troubled storyline._

_It's not my favorite - I couldn't get the characters to cooperate, mostly because I don't see their relationship developing into this - but I decided to post it anyway._

___**Dedicated to the amazing katinkaklink**, who was more than patient with the fact this is an EXTREMELY LATE Secret Stana gift. And to make up for the delay, this is the second of her gifts! :D Hopefully she'll enjoy the overload of angst._

* * *

"Kate!" The voice calls out again, more frantic. "KATE! Where the hell did you go?!"

After a pause, Kate Beckett turns and reenters the apartment she shares with Richard Castle. She doesn't know where she's heading, just that inside's better than outside.

"Nice of you to finally show your face again, Kate." The tone bites, sending shockwaves up her skin. She's seized with this need to GO, to be somewhere else, to be anywhere other than here, with him, having this fight, this stupid fight -

Rick moves in front of her, blocking her only escape. Kate peers around him, as though calculating the distance to the front door. Of course, she leans back, knowing she doesn't have the strength to actually go for it, to actually take that step to say goodbye. She never did have that strength when it came to Castle.

So instead, the two stand there, a face-off, before he speaks. "Come on, Kate, this is so much more than this one argument, don't think I don't know that." His words wake Kate up, as she brushes past him, but she doesn't make it more than a few steps before stopping. With her back to him, she can feel his gaze on her, the electricity of it shivering down her spine. And oh, she wishes for his arms around her, for the companionship, the partnership, that made life so easy in the past.

Kate's eyes flicker close. She can almost feel Castle's arms around her body, his breath on her neck, his mouth by her ear. She can almost feel their fingers intertwine, the nudge of his chin against her shoulder, encouraging her to speech.

She's painfully aware it's all a mirage, that he's not really there, that he's still a meter away, still staring at her back, but it's enough for now, enough to allow a foolish few words escape her mouth. "It's not my fault."

Kate doesn't mean it as an accusation, just an explanation. But that's not how the words are going to sound to Castle, and the moment she utters the words, her eyes fly open in shock, as though wondering whether she really said that out loud. Crap. Her shoulders shrug upwards in defense, her arms wrapping around her torso. Her posture indicates she's ready for the tornado she's just unleashed.

Oh crap.

But Castle just looks at her, before taking the few steps forward necessary to reach Kate. His head falls forward, resting on her shoulder. Kate's body relaxes into his, as the words whisper out of his mouth, "Maybe we should just start over, just start all over again."

Start over? What does that even mean? Starting over?

The thoughts whirl around Kate's head, and she shrugs away from him, heart aching at the lack of contact, but mind knowing the space is necessary. She backs up a few paces, until her back collides with the wall, the stairs to her left. She's grateful for the wall's support.

"Start over?" She says, the idea alluring but impossible. "What does that even mean, Castle?" Kate doesn't understand the concept of starting over. This moment is burned into her mind, a permanent memory, a memory that scorches through her body and leaves her sick. It's not possible to start over. It's only possible to try and forget.

He steps forward, his hand winding around her neck to the smooth skin on the back of her neck. Kate's eyes remain trained on the floor, memorizing the whirls of the hardwood. His fingers whisper along her skin, a love letter of sorts, as her name falls from his lips in reverent breaths, a prayer of sorts.

Kate realizes in this moment how much she loves him. It's a desperate love, a love that's essential but poisoning, but she can't help it. She loves him.

He moves closer, pressing himself up against her left side and nuzzling sweetly into her neck. Inhaling, the familiar scent of Kate Beckett, that faint cherry smell, assaults his nostrils and he feels like he's home. He can't help the words that escape his lips. "We're okay, right?" His breath catches, in a fit of nerves, waiting to see how Kate will react.

Kate's eyes flutter close, her body sinking into his touch, into his body, into the innate Castle-ness of him. When she breathes, she smells his scent, the one she loves. When she lifts her hand, she lets it trail along the length of his hand that rests on her hip, Kate admires the deft fingers that have saved her own life, that have pushed Alexis on the swing, that have typed brilliant masterpieces that carried her through her mother's death.

It's all too much.

It's exactly what she needs, but it's too much. She feels like she might pass out, that her legs might not hold her any longer, that they might spring into action, that she might run for her life.

But she stays, because she is Detective Katherine Beckett of the NYPD, girlfriend of Richard Castle, and daughter of Johanna Beckett. She stays, because she can survive it all.

So eyes still closed, breathing deeply, fingers whispering along his hand, Kate lets the words escape. "We're okay."

Because it's enough, to be here. It's enough to have him. It's enough. It's not perfect, but it's enough.

* * *

_Author's Note: I normally welcome criticisms. In this case, temper it a bit if you can... I know this story is not the greatest, but I'm not sure how I could have improved it. If you have suggestions, that's really helpful. But do know my ego in this case might be a bit fragile. )_


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